ascelle
by SebonzaMitsuki27
Summary: Amy. During the time-skip. She's a fairytale through and through; skin and stars and bones.


ascelle

disclaimer: doctor who isn't mine.

—

**Sleeping Beauty**

i.

Her name is Amelia Pond, and she is seven years old.

When she grows up, she wants to be an explorer. Like Lex the Great. And with bigger and better elephants than before.

And she's going to be one.

With the help of the funny Doctor with the funny face and the funny food taste.

He's going to come back, and she's still waiting.

After all, her suitcase is still packed.

ii.

She's not quite sure what to make of this… doctor. Psy… psych… _psychiatrist._

Well, if nothing else, he has quite nice specs. Rimmed black which just about hide a mole that she can see if she squints. Brown hair that could almost be labelled 'mud.' Not really like the texture, but the colour is certainly mud brown…

His hazel eyes are nice, she decides with a nod.

But that's about it.

Because she's not quite sure how much she can stand before she does something drastic.

Like tugging his tie or kicking his shin.

That wouldn't be very nice, she knows.

Neither is saying that the Doctor is Not Real.

iii.

She wants to fall asleep. Stay cross at the world and hide in her room. Then crawl under the bed where she can dream, shutting her eyes once and for all.

Then, she dreams, hears the sound of the blue box with a swimming pool in it and already the covers are up in the air and she's at the window, scanning for the… for the blue box that… isn't there.

It's only something that her head's made up.

Slowly, she trudges back to bed, glancing outside again and again just in case. But her toes are getting cold.

—

**Beauty and the Beast**

i.

Her name is Amelia Pond and she is nine years old.

When she grows up, she is going to visit the moon. Just because she's going to paint a big blue box when she's on the moon-ground, so that everyone can see the blue box and know what she's talking about.

And alright, the box might not _entirely_ straight and wee bit wibbly-wobbly, but _still._

That way, if anyone _saw _the box in real life, and not on the moon, they'd call her.

And she'd come running.

ii.

Apparently the psychiatrist doesn't take too kindly to being bitten.

That is a shame, but the bite was well deserved.

But Amelia _had_ developed an affinity for his button collecting hobbies. Especially that sparkly purple one.

This one is blonde. And a woman. She doesn't wear glasses, but she has pretty blue eyes.

Amelia's not so keen on her smile, though. It almost becomes stiff as her shrink shifts through papers on her desk and organizes and reorganizes the pen collection into colours of the rainbow. Or height order.

Then she speaks, and Amelia doesn't really like how those blue eyes gleam as says _the Doctor_.

Amelia only bites her lip. Looks away and feels her face flush in indignation.

Doesn't really want to show the psychiatrist the pictures she's drawn.

iii.

She doesn't really like tearing roses to shreds, but she's plucking the petals apart one by one.

Wants to see her 'raggedy' Doctor, as the shrink calls him, nails too black, and make him take her away. For forever and one more day.

Tries that funny recipe that he ate, and feels a little better. Not as bad as she thought it would be. But then it could just be the power of the Scottish.

It's a little strange, but she's getting used to being associated with that.

—

**Cinderella**

i.

Her name is Amelia Pond and she is eleven years old.

When she grows up, she's going to be a dancer and dance all across the stars.

Right now, she's barely making do with papier-mâché and pretending she's as graceful as them as she glides them through the air.

And in the dead of the night, she'll throw them so that they'll fly ,and in that second when her head's distracted, they clatter to the ground.

ii.

She could have bitten harder, if she's being honest.

At least, she didn't bite the one on the nose.

It's only a the hand, but still.

Those bite marks won't last too long.

This next one is a male who's rather chubby and adores a good dose of chocolate. He keeps a lot of cats and always manages to bring one into work. Amelia's never really sure how, but he tells the wildest of stories of his smuggling abilities.

He likes to make fun of his hair, or lack of it. They make a promise that in the future she will give him locks of her hair, so that he will give her some chocolate. After all, nothing says awesome quite like that. And on really dreary, miserable days, he wears glow in the dark sunglasses.

She's not really sure about his taste of music, but then he's not really sure about the size of her imagination.

They work out a deal: if she manages to smile or tell a really good joke, he'll let her stroke the kitty-cat with ginger fur or black and white fur and tickle its belly during the rest of their session. Which often consists of gossip.

But she always likes the witch's cat – black fur and black nose and green eyes and one white sock. Because that one always shakes his paw, and he always purrs as he sits on her tummy.

So, the witch's cat is brought in more often than the others, but really, Amelia likes all the cats.

_This _one, this _psychiatrist_ she bites on the nose.

Not because he isn't willing to suspend disbelief in the Doctor, but because he isn't willing to believe in blue boxes that are bigger in the inside.

iii.

"Um. Hello."

"Hello."

Sort of gangly and sort of sweet, this boy is uncomfortably trying to walk backwards into a wall.

"Amy, right?"

"Amelia, actually."

And she's always kind of noticed him, but she's never _really_ noticed him.

Until tonight when the stars are glittering in the sky, and Amelia'd wanted to spin and feel breathless by looking in the stars.

He tugs her red, red hair and mumbles that it's like molten copper.

Amelia can't really decide if he's referring to her cheeks or her locks of hair.

His name is Rory, and he kind of makes her smile.

Except for once when he runs away, but even then she chases him, splashing puddles in the ground.

—

**Frog Prince**

i.

Her name is Amelia Pond and she is thirteen years old.

When she grows up, she's going to kiss Rory and live in the world of strange.

Doesn't really mind it too much; her suitcase is in a drawer, and she can always pull it out whenever she wants.

And hey, it took a while, but now Rory can hold her hand and glow like the sun.

But she's kind of developed a habit of tweaking his nose when she thinks he's being a bit too silly.

He still pulls her hair and tries to run while he still can.

ii.

The next shrink sticks out from all the rest. Not just because he looks like he's dreaming while he's wide awake. Or because he has a girlfriend named Emily and makes the best paper hats.

This one looks a little mischievous and acts like it too. He puts three drops of sugar in his lemonade, and counts Mississippi-ly between each drop. There are times when she wonders if he thinks it's tea or coffee in his mug that says, '_hello, wide, wide world, I'm a platypus!' _although that slight smile on his face leads her to believe the colour of the mug and the font changes every time she comes and visits. Amelia can never quite remember which the colour the mug was last time.

Amelia is never really sure what the eye colour of this shrink is called. They sparkle… and that's about it. Maybe laughter has a colour; if it does, it suits his iris perfectly. His natural hair colour is sandy brown, so he says, though he dyes it constantly.

Her favourite shade would have to be the bizarre explosion of purple and black, because if she squinted, she could make out trace elements of a navy blue on the shadows of his face.

'Embrace weirdness' is this psychiatrist's motto. For there _is_ weirdness in reality.

Maybe it's just a really _long_ bad day, and the world was standing much too still, falling apart while she felt even more like a child lost in a forest than ever. But it was one too many implied _he isn't real_ through the drumming of his fingers and the spinning of pennies and pencils

And somehow, she's biting his shoulder-bone.

But he hugs her, and that already separates him from all the rest. And he doesn't let go.

iii.

Rory's there when she needs him, and it's a different sort of hug to one before.

They meet halfway and their hands entwine, and it's the first time that Amelia-Amy-Pond feels old and young at the same time with a little rumble from her tummy.

She's never felt as comfortable as she does now; and there's a wistful part of happiness and sadness bubbling within her as they watch the sunset together.

Time to grow up.

Well, only a little bit.


End file.
